


Light in Darkness

by lferion



Series: Iron and Light [9]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU of an AU, Alternate Universe - Thorin Lives, Dwarf Culture & Customs, HobbitAdvent, M/M, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 15:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/pseuds/lferion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwalin has gone against tradition his whole life. What's one more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light in Darkness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Glorfindel (Zana)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zana/gifts).
  * Inspired by [And Back Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035811) by [Glorfindel (Zana)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zana/pseuds/Glorfindel). 



> Originally posted for Day 5 of Hobbit Advent.  
> Thanks go to Morgynleri and Ickaimp for cogent advice and hand-holding, and to Zana for writing the marvelously rich and wonderful Lay of Dwalin the Dwarf 'verse.

* * *

_Tradition said: Dwarrow women were few, and precious, and seldom seen outside of their halls and the company of their kin. They did not travel, not above once or twice in their lives, and then only for marriage or grave necessity._

Dwalin settled back under the coverlet Bofur had brought back from Ered Luin. It was nice to be home. It was nice to have some of the things that they had left behind for the quest. This was a particularly satisfying example. The whole of the journey back with the caravan had been more comfortable for it, and after the Orc-skirmish near the high pass in the Misty Mountains, it had been wonderfully warm and useful to them both, whether they did anything more energetic than sleep or not. 

Now they had room to spread out, apartments and houses of their own, but what that really meant was that they had a bigger bed. It might well be they'd want a larger still, but that was a discussion for daylight. For now he would enjoy the luxury of a thick mattress on a sturdy frame, smooth, clean sheets, and close and intimate company under that traditional coverlet.

_Tradition said: Dwarf women were nigh indistinguishable from Dwarf men in hair, beard, stature, skill, vocal range, and even name by non-dwarves, those not privy to the differences in traditional modes of dress, hair and beard ornamentation and style employed by men and women. Crafts, too were some of them generally divided up along gendered lines. Anyone might be a smith, a jeweler, a shaper of stone or wood, metal or glass. Cooking, bargaining, music, lore and letters, healing and textile were open to all. But the arts of war, of mining, of travel and diplomacy, of leadership, were understood to be taken up by men, and those pertaining to childcare, domestic affairs and the like were women's crafts._

Reflexively as breathing, Dwalin looked over to the corner where Grasper and Keeper stood, Bofur's well-used mattock beside them, their various swords and knives in their places, including the one under the pillow. Not that any of them were really likely to need it, but Dis' lessons on political intrigue had not fallen on deaf ears, and recent events had only widened the field of both possible targets and likely assassins. It really would not do to be unprepared, especially now. He would defend his beloved and his king with his bare hands and a butter knife just as Dori had, but he would really rather not if he didn't have to. Not that they weren't capable of defending themselves (mostly), but that wasn't the point.

_Tradition said lovemaking was best done in the dark, as was sleeping, for had not Durin and the other Fathers and Mothers slept in the dark under stone?_

The one lamp he'd left glowing dimly (and he had a new appreciation for the safety and elegant simplicity of glowstone as illumination - no smoke, no oil or wax to need replacing, no danger of fire or fumes) cast its warm light on the closed door, the well-kept weapons. Anyone entering would be clearly visible, and Dwalin would be nearest any threat. Light gleamed soft on curves and hollows of shoulders, cheekbones, temples. No need to question for an instant where or who on waking.

_Tradition said: a dwarf loved but once, and married only if the one they loved loved them in turn, and both were not more wedded to their craft than might be to each other._

Tradition could go eff itself, thought Dwalin, as he curled his fingers around Bofur's, careful of the still-healing bones. Bofur's answering squeeze and the still-dazed glint on his eye made Dwalin smile, heart full to overflowing. Thick black and silver hair spilled across the pillow, mingling with finer brown. As Dwalin pulled the coverlet up over the three of them, the light caught on the wide swath of scars on Thorin's torso, the new ink on the flat expanse of his own chest and he could hardly contain his feelings. He spooned up close, Thorin safe between them, his and Bofur's hands together at Thorin's waist. Not waking, Thorin shifted to rest against Dwalin with a little sigh. To be with both the ones he loved, known and loved in return as himself was a gift beyond reckoning. 

Time for some new traditions.


End file.
